Why is it always you three?
by Theodora Helena Miller
Summary: A book-smart yet clumsy Muggleborn comes to Hogwarts and teams up with an orphan raised by her aunt and uncle and a disgraced pureblood. Epic fails, mischief, mysteries, Potters, Weaslys, Quidditch, Malfoy, even a Riddle. OC's. T for my paranoia.


"Theo! Get the mail!" Mum yelled from the master bathroom.

I rolled out of bed and ran out of my room, down the stairs, and to the front door. Without even pausing to consider my floor-length, tattered bath robe, I rushed out the front door and…

I promptly tripped.

The ground was softer than usual. It appeared I'd fallen off the porch sideways, thank God. It's extremely painful to hit the sidewalk, especially face first. I had an impressive scar running down the side of my face from falling off the porch at our old place. Mum said it didn't detract from my features, but it was certainly noticeable enough to make your eyes travel to it rather than to the rather pretty shade of grey-green in my irises.

My personal favourite scar was a tiny set of two white dots on my forearm, where an angry copperhead bit me shortly after I stumbled over a root and fell right in front of it. Luckily, it wasn't out hunting at the time and hence had no venom in its fangs.

Tracing the marks with a single finger, I stood up and moved more carefully to the mailbox. It was almost completely full. Even with my brother off at university, we got tons of mail from colleges and science magazines and fencing magazines and household magazines and cooking magazines and writing magazines.

The first thing I noticed was an envelope made of thick, heavy paper. It was old looking, with words in dark blue ink. It was addressed to me, down to the phrase "medium sized bedroom". I flipped it over and examined the seal. I'd been obsessed with anything medieval for a long while, crests especially. Plus, my grandmother had insisted that I learn Latin.

_Draco dormiens numquam titillandus._

"Never tickle a sleeping dragon… Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry?"

I slid a fingernail under the wax and opened the envelope. The first paper read thus:

_Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry  
>Headmistress: Minerva McGonagall (Order of Merlin, First Class)<br>Dear Theodora Miller,_

_We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Filius Flitwick, Deputy Headmaster_

"Mum!"

I climbed up the steps reading the letter of requirements. Certain words jumped out at me—wand, cloak, robes, _dragon_. I ran into the doorstop and stepped sideways, rubbing my forehead.

"What is it?"

"Mum, there's a letter for me… Just read it."

She took the first letter and her eyebrows travelled up her forehead silently.

"Miss Miller, Miss Brooks?"

I whirled around. A woman in a green pea coat was standing on the doorstep, smiling encouragingly.

"I'm Hermione Weasly—I'm with the Hogwarts Muggleborn welcoming committee, here to explain everything."

I exchanged a glance with Mum, but she just shrugged and stepped aside. "Would you like some tea?"

"I would, thank you. Your home is lovely, by the way."

As I closed the door, I took in the slim wooden wand sticking out of her purse, and the wedding ring on her left hand.

"Is this some sort of joke?" Mum asked as she showed her to the dining room.

"I thought the same thing when I got my acceptance letter." Mrs. Weasly admitted. "But actually, it's real. You're a witch, Theodora."

"You pronounced my name correctly."

This was a first. The first two syllables were pronounced Tay-oh instead of Thee-uh. Now I was willing to entertain the possibility she was telling the truth, strangely enough.

My mother placed a cup of tea in front of the stranger and sat down. "What's a Muggleborn?"

"It's someone who's born to non-wizarding family. Muggles are people without magic, you see."

"Prove it."

"Theo!"

"Come on, Mum, you were thinking the same thing. I just had the guts to say it."

Mrs. Weasly reached into her bag and pulled out the wand. With a simple wave, she conjured a bouquet of orchids.

"Still not convinced." I said resolutely, folding my arms. "I've seen that done before."

"Oculus reparo."

My glasses, which were always crooked, suddenly straightened. I took them off and saw that the scratches were completely gone. Now _that_ was impressive.

"I'm convinced. Mum?"

"I am too."

"Well then, it's settled."

X-x-X-x-X

"Are you ready?" Mrs. Weasly asked.

I nodded quietly, gripping the strap of my messenger bag rather tightly. "And we just step through a fireplace and poof, we're in London?"

"Yes. It's hard to explain, it's just…"

"Magic?"

"Magic."

I took a handful of the shimmering powder and looked up at her. She motioned for me to go on.

"Wait, what? I'm going first?"

"If you get lost, I need to know what grate you come out at. I have to be here to do that. Just say 'Diagon Alley' very clearly. If you mispronounce that, you'll end up somewhere else. My friend Harry ended up in a darker side of town the first time he used Floo Powder."

"Um… Okay?"

"Oh! I'm sorry. I'm sure you'll be fine. Good luck!"

I stooped low as I stepped onto the hearth and into the grate. I sneezed violently as I threw the powder down. "Diagon Alley!" Green flames swirled up to greet me, and I was intrigued to see glimpses of the insides of fireplaces.

Finally, I found myself in what seemed to be a pub.

"Another one?" Someone grunted. "Don't get ashes on my cloak."

"That's no way to greet someone—she's obviously going to be at Hogwarts this year. I apologise for my boyfriend, he's surly—lost a bet on a Quidditch match to a _girl_."

The pair were treated with a blank look through sooty glasses. "Quidditch?"

Mrs. Weasly stepped out behind me and smiled not-so-genuinely at them. "Good morning, Emily, Collin. This is Theodora,"

"Mudblood." The boy muttered.

"Neanderthal." I replied calmly, recognising an insult when I heard one. "I'll explain what that means in tiny words suitable for your brain, if you explain what a Mudblood is."

"There's really no need. Come on, Theodora, I'll tell you."

"No, I want to hear it from him. _What is a_ _Mudblood_?"

"Someone born into a common family who's given a chance to join _our _world even though they're the reason we have to stay hidden, live halfway underground. Look at the wreckage out in Diagon Alley. Thirteen years, and it's still a mess. If it weren't for Mudbloods like you, You-Know-Who never would've done that. You're filth, and we'd be better off without your kind."

This was from the girlfriend, Emily, who was suddenly cold and glaring.

"Well, excuse me if I'm not a witch born and raised. At least I don't class a group of people as filth based on who their family is without knowing them. Maybe the only difference between me and you is that I was raised correctly, to be polite to everyone, and you were raised to be full of hate."

Emily stood up and reached into her pocket, but Mrs. Weasly was steering me out into the brisk fall wind. It was raining. "Don't bother. You'll just get hexed."

"How long did you put up with that for fear of being hexed?"

"Not long. I just stopped caring what they called me."

"Question." I said after a moment of silence. "Why are we standing in a little square surrounded by brick walls?"

She pulled out her wand again and tapped the bricks carefully. They slid to the side, grating stone against stone, and created an archway.

"Welcome to Diagon Alley."


End file.
